


Can You Feel My Heart?

by slytherpvff



Category: Fight Club (1999)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherpvff/pseuds/slytherpvff
Summary: Sometimes, hitting bottom is easy. Other times, you have to be carried—kicking and screaming—and in the end, you thank him.
Relationships: Narrator/Marla Singer, Tyler Durden/Narrator, Tyler Durden/Narrator/Marla Singer
Kudos: 13





	Can You Feel My Heart?

He hadn’t expected to receive anything today from anyone. He hadn’t in years. The shiny black eye he’d gotten on Saturday was still deep puce, a glaring stop sign that took up a little less than half the left side of his face that made his coworkers’ banal platitudes get caught in their esophaguses and abort mission. That was enough of a gift for him.

Two bottles of beer in, sitting in the living room, that ever-present one-two _drip_ noise from the pipes that lead to the upstairs bathroom. One _drip_ , silence, silence. One _drip_ , silence, silence. One...

Tyler tossed it onto the low coffee table between them, scattering wet magazines and half-used ashtrays, old, empty coffee cups and Redbull cans. It was wrapped in brown paper like a slab of meat from the butcher, sickly-thin, faintly-yellow scotch tape looped around it all like it’d been squirming to get away the whole time.

He scoffed and let his magazine fall to rest on the coffee table, too, met Tyler’s uncharacteristically _bashful_ gaze, that lazy smirk across his face loaded up with something dangerous.

“What,” he asked, sitting up where he’d sprawled out in one of their moldy, too-big armchairs, “did you get me a Redbull and wrap it up all nice?”

“Sure did,” Tyler purred, taking up residence at the corner of the coffee table after flicking an empty can out of the way with his foot first. “That’s what all the boys want for their birthday these days, a big can of concentrated so-called energy.”

He picked it up. Could you blame him for a guess like that? It looked the same size as one, the same shape. It did not weigh the same. It was...a little heftier. Did Tyler get him a Redbull can filled with liposuction fat? _That_ sounded way too plausible to get crossed off the list completely.

“You shouldn’t have got me anything, you dick,” he muttered, pulling at the scotch tape until it snapped apart. One side, the other. Cherry red knuckles. He was smiling, able to unwrap it, then, the brown boa constrictor-like paper fell down between his legs to the floor the way beggars do. Excitement, unbidden, bubbled up at the very outer edges of his ribs.

First, his brain turned into the static a TV gives you when you don’t receive a channel.

Then, he just...couldn’t let go of it. He wanted to throw it away before it could hurt him, marr him, make him unclean and unworthy and _a piece of fucking shit, why would you even h4ve something like this—_

“I’d expected something a little less _terrified,”_ Tyler told him, leaning back onto the coffee table and crossing his legs at the knee. He was barefoot, in that hodgepodge mess of a robe he liked to wear, the one that made his ass look amazing.

It was a fleshlight.

His eyebrows drew together as he tried to speak. He felt like he was choking on his blood again, that same instinctive desperate _cough_ coming from his throat. He reached up with his _unoccupied_ hand and rubbed at the sweat tickling his brow.

Turned the toy over in his hand. It wasn’t even a cunt. It was a little pucker. Innocuous. A little, tiny asshole.

“D’you hate it?” Tyler asked, pulling a cig from the pack hidden away in his robe and lighting it. Tyler took a drag and blew the smoke in his face. “You weren’t supposed to. I thought you’d like it.”

“Why’d you get me an _ass?”_

Tyler _c4ckled,_ leaning forward again to clap his hands together lightly and grin. “I’ve seen the way you look at Angel Face. Don’t pretend you don’t wanna fuck his brains out. I wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to, myself…” Another drag of his cigarette. “Maybe we could _share_ him.”

He tossed the toy onto the coffee table and could finally breathe again. His face hot. Hot, hot, hot.

“I’m not gay, Tyler. I like—I like _girls.”_

“You don’t like Marla.”

“That’s because Marla _fucked_ me. She ruined my life, up until—“

“Up until _I_ came along and redeemed you. Right?” Tyler stood, stepped into his personal space. Between his legs. Staring down at him like he’d just broken a Rule. Kept going even though Jordan had told him to stop. He shouldn’t have had to tell him more than once, that was Rule Three. The way Tyler had looked at him, then, you would’ve thought he’d tried to—

Cheek. Sting. Pain. 

“Right?” Tyler was shouting in his face, had just sl4pped him. Hard. The whole right side of his face pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

“Right!” He eyed the toy on the table.

“Right...” Tyler readjusted himself through his soft, soft robe, never subtle about it. He knew what he was packing and figured if anybody was offended, they needed to learn to look away. He plunked himself back down onto the coffee table with a long-suffering _sigh._

Meanwhile, he brought his hand up to his cheek.

Tyler poked the toy with the knuckle of his index finger. A curved dew claw.

“Fuck,” Tyler said, shrugging and picking it up. It looked smaller, in his hand. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it. Shit’s not exactly _cheap,_ and I figure any willing hole is better than none—“

“No,” he blurted, reaching out and taking the toy from Tyler’s fingers, missing the way that made Tyler _smile,_ “I’ll—I’ll take it. It’s...great. Thanks, Tyler.”

“Welcome.” He stood again. Up, down. Up, down… “You gonna use it tonight?”

Face hot again.

“...Maybe.”

Tyler scoffed, finished his cigarette and flicked it off into a puddle in the corner of the room. _“Maybe,”_ he muttered to himself, sauntering off into the kitchen to start cooking.

[[[]]]

He kept a bottle of lotion on the floor beside his bed for situations like this. After a _tense_ dinner comprised of cheap, meat-free stroganoff with Tyler, he more or less ran upstairs with his tail tucked between his legs, the toy slippery with sweat against his palm. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, sitting at the dinner table with his leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. And Tyler kept giving him amused, _knowing_ glances. Maybe it would’ve been better if he _had_ gotten him Redbull.

Nobody’d ever cornered him about it like this. Decades of furtive, forlorn glances and guilty solo sessions eeked out his meager existence, hiding himself away so that maybe someday he’d just up and miraculously break the habit. Leave it behind him. He’d never wanted to show any of it, in case it got him beaten up.

Funny how things change so quickly.

Tonguing the fresh cut on the inside of his cheek from Tyler’s bitch slap, he set the toy down on the bed and clambered out of his dingy, striped robe, letting it fall to the floor beside that nail that always dug into his heel when he got up in the mornings.

He was panting already, his chest deeply rising and falling. Sweat had started lightly staining the collar of his shirt during dinner. Now, the scent of it was damn near overpowering.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled the garment off over his head, adding it to the pile on the floor. He was about to take off his boxers when something stopped him.

A voice at the back of his head. Saying he should go sl0wer...

The toy taunted him, turned around on the bed so that he couldn’t see the hole. Just the heady black casing. Like the barrel of a gun.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, tender at the very edge where Jimmy had split it open this past weekend.

_Slower._

He rubbed the back of his neck, stared hard at the stain on the wall across the room that looked like Dolly Parton. Moved his hand from the back of his neck around to trace the fragile bone of his clavicle with two fingers. One side. The other. He shivered with it, his skin warm to the touch, and felt himself twitch in his boxers at the thought of what he was going to do.

Smoothed his palm down the center of his chest to dip his fingers under his waistband—just barely—and slid back up to gently roll his nipple between thumb and forefinger. He pressed h4rder and _whimpered,_ his other hand moving up to give his other nipple the same treatment. Rocked his hips lightly forward against nothing. Against the air.

He let his lip go from between his teeth, scratched down his chest and around to the small of his back. God, he wanted to sleep with someone. Maybe even somebody in _particular…_ Around again to his belly, watching eight thin, red lines crop up along his skin. Pressed his waistband down a little with his short, clipped fingernails. Dew cl4ws.

Okay. He was done moving slow, now.

Fingers crooked into the waistband of his boxers and he pulled them down, stepped out of them haphazard—one foot, stumbled over, landed against the bed, the other foot. Dropped into the pile.

Crawled up onto his bed like a caveman, the springs protesting with loud, garish squeaks. Lip back between his teeth.

He almost didn’t want to touch it, again. Maybe if he pretended it was a just a regular fleshlight, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. If he didn’t even look at it, it was just a toy. It didn’t have to _mean_ anything.

He picked it up only to set it down closer to the head of the bed, leaning over the side of the— reaching down to _stroke_ himself a few times, his hips lifted _up_ off the bed. Crouching. Fuck, he was so fucking pathetic. He hadn’t even used the toy yet.

Reached over the edge of the bed and pumped a healthy glob of lotion into his palm.

He could just jack off, now. Come like usual, clean up, go to bed. Tyler wouldn’t _know_.

But where was the fun in th4t?

He edged himself back toward his pillow, careful, eyeing the toy beside bim. Wrapped his hand around himself and pumped twice.

Reached for the toy resting beside his thigh with his clean hand, trembling so much like he had Alzheimer’s. Picked it up. The casing wasn’t slick anymore, warming up in his palm in a matter of seconds.

He sniffled. Lifted his hand and smeared his fingers along the puckered hole set in the center of the toy.

He was so _fucking_ hard.

Slid two fingers in and it was so tight, gonna feel so good, so good, so—

He pulled his fingers out, his ears ringing, eyes suddenly stinging, and pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, mouth lightly agape as he turned his attention over to his d00r. His open door. He was sure he’d closed it. He’d closed it, right? He had.

Tyler and Marla always closed their door. Why shouldn’t he?

And he shouldn’t have to be quiet about whatever he did, either.

Ire burning in his chest, behind his eyes. He got out of bed with weak knees, made his way over to the door half-stumbling, messily pressed both hands against the dirtied wood to slam the door shut. Leaned into it with his left shoulder afterwards. Rested his forehead against the door.

He wanted it so bad. _He wanted it so bad._

So he was gonna fucking do it.

Turned around and stalked back to the toy, climbed up onto his bed to mount it.

He made sure not to stifle himself, this time. No biting into his hand or his pillow or his shitty, ratty blankets to keep quiet. Who gave a shit if Tyler heard? He didn’t let himself come the first time he got close, making himself wait for it, making it that much _sweeter._

He nearly brought himself to tears by the end of it.

He laid there, panting, and told himself he’d clean everything up in the morning.

He slept as if he’d gone fighting.

**Author's Note:**

> The narrator fought me throughout this whole chapter. He’ll open up and become less shy as time goes on, I should think. Thanks for reading!


End file.
